


Till Politics Do Us Part

by Neferit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Community: dragonage_kink, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Misunderstandings, Presumed Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferit/pseuds/Neferit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cailan had his lovers, Anora said. Alistair will have his lovers, too, Anora thought. Yet at seeing him storm angrily from their shared room, Anora can't help but wonder - what did she miss in the relationship between him and his fellow Warden?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isn't Something Missing Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8033.html?thread=37952353#t37952353):
> 
>  
> 
> _So, in Return to Ostagar, you find out that Cailan was planning to divorce Anora and marry the Empress of Orlais. It's implied that this is, at least in part, due to the fact that Anora has not conceived a child after 5 years of marriage._  
>  Fast forward to after the blight. Alistair and Anora and married, and ruling Ferelden together. And somehow, Anora finds out about Cailan's plans. Maybe she finds the letters he left behind. Maybe she overhears Eamon and Alistair arguing about it. Or maybe, Alistair is tired of Anora comparing him to her dead husband, and tells her in a fit of rage.  
> Anora is DEVASTATED. For all his faults, Anora loved Cailan, and always thought that he loved her too. The fact that many people (and maybe Anora herself) seem to think her barrenness is a punishment from the Maker for having a non-noble on the throne doesn't help any. And so Alistair lays on the adorable comfort fluff like only he can, reassuring her that whatever problems they may have had, he's not gonna leave her out in the cold like Cailan was planning to.
> 
>  
> 
> There are some additions I've made in my fill, but nothing that would contradict the prompt. Enjoy!

 

Anora liked to think that she always knew what was happening around her. She didn’t have to be in complete control of the said happenings, but if nothing else, she had the full knowledge of it.

Still, she never fully realized how first impression prone she could be.

When she had seen Viola Cousland interact with her at the time husband-to-be, all she could see had been the gentle lover-like touches the two of them seemed to share, like, all the damn time.

A touch on the elbow, a hand laid on the shoulder, arm wrapped around waist, tussling of hair, a shared smile, a kiss on the cheek when they thought no one could see them.

It came as a surprise when the female Warden approached her in her room at Eamon’s estate, and after asking her several questions actually suggested a marriage between her and the other Warden, Maric’s bastard, Alistair.

“Well, Cailan had his lovers, too,” she said at the time, ignorant of the confused face Viola made when she heard that. They haven’t talked about it anymore, not before the Landsmeet, or during it, as her husband-to-be argued for her father to be executed.

How she hated him in that moment, as he shared a look with his fellow Warden, nodding to her before she beheaded her father and later, pronounced them the future King and Queen of Ferelden.

Anora had no doubt that their affair continued during the months following the Landsmeet.

After all, didn’t he go to her room, and spend quite some time there while they were still in Denerim?

Didn’t she come to his room, when the army marched to Redcliffe, only to find out that the bulk of Darkspawn forces is marching to Denerim, spending the night there?

Didn’t they continue to share the small touches, he as her King, and she as his Chancellor?

He wasn’t a bad man, Maker help her. He was as decent as they went, even if his sense of humour had been rather questionable at times, and he treated her with respect and did his duties in timely manner, taking keen interest in how things worked; Viola often working with him in the King’s study, pointing things out and explaining them to him, discussing matters with him and arguing points together.

Shouldn’t it be her, she thought jealously, who should do that?

It wasn’t overly polite of her, now that she thought of it, but looking at him, she couldn’t help but see Cailan and compare the two. Alistair often came out lacking in one characteristic or another, and often, she would voice the sentiment aloud, uncaring about the way his mouth tightened, and how his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles went white from the pressure.

The breaking point came on the eve of the day the Chancellor came to the King’s study in the morning, glowing from the inside, a giddy expression on her face.

“Somebody had a good night? Did a certain someone finally man up finally by chance?” Alistair asked, grinning at Viola’s blush. She held her hand to him; a golden ring resting on her ring finger.

Obviously, Teagan Guerrin proposed to her just the evening before, and they already started planning out the wedding.

Alistair had been overjoyed by the news, judging by the way he hugged her and wished her all the best in her upcoming nuptials; only Anora’s discreet cough startling them both from the small bubble of heartfelt feelings into the cold and harsh world of duty and paper work.

And broken hearts, if Anora had any say in it.

Their fight started for some trifle. He had done something and she immediately flung something related to Cailan into his face. They argued for some time, when she snapped at him that while she could live with the knowledge that he still kept his dalliance with Viola, didn’t the two of them had any shame to bring yet another person into it?!

For a second, he just stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Bring another person into what?!” he said, his voice rising in outrage. “Into the friendship I share with Viola? Or perhaps you mean something else?”

His voice fell down to the false calm he adopted whenever he was barely containing himself from exploding, which, she thought with dropping heart, was happening with increasing frequency lately, and usually it was connected to whatever she threw at him.

“Anora,” he said with the same false calm. “You know I’m not Cailan. And as such, I do not plan on sleeping around, and most of all, I do not plan on abandoning my wife - bah, why do I even bother,” he finished, throwing his arms up in frustration.

“Where are you going?” she asked him, alarmed. He didn’t even bother to stop. “To see some of my friends - who, I might add, do not feel the need to compare me to a faulty ghost all the bloody time, I’ll have you know.”

The door banged close, leaving her alone and cold in the room they were supposed to share.

Maker, what exactly did she miss?


	2. Price for Love

 

_“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”_

\- E. A. Bucchianeri

**-o.O.o-**

The full extent of what she had gotten wrong came to her the next morning.

Usually, she and her husband, Alistair, had a breakfast together, before their Chancellor came to collect them and together they would go through the matters that demanded both their attention. Once that would be done, she would return to her own study, unless there was something either of them needed her assistance with, which was happening less and less, since the new King was learning quickly.

With a painful pang she thought that in such a short time Alistair learnt more than Cailan ever knew about the art of ruling.

Lady Chancellor didn’t come that day, her attention focused on her betrothed and the matters of organizing their very own wedding, leaving the Queen alone with her thoughts, since the King departed for Bannorn with Bann Teagan, citing some issue with several banns as the reason for his leave.

Anora always hated having too much free time on her hands, since it always left her with too much time to dwell on unpleasant thoughts. Where did Cailan go? To whom? When he will be back? Did he even care about her? What was wrong with her that he seeked attention from other women?

And now it was another question that tortured her mind.

What did I miss?

**-o.O.o-**

With Alistair travelling around the Ferelden and the Lady Chancellor once again busy at work, taking care of as much paperwork as she could before she left for her wedding and honeymoon, there had been little for the Queen to busy herself with, apart from maybe embroidery or thinking.

And think she did; probably more than would be healthy for her own peace of mind.

**-o.O.o-**

After two weeks of torturous thinking, Anora had enough. Marching through the halls of Denerim Palace, she pushed the door to Chancellor’s study open, making Viola jump to her feet and reach for a weapon.

“My Queen,” she spoke, curtsying, her eyes remaining on the woman before her. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

“Leave us,” Anora told to Viola’s personal guard, Ser Gilmore, one of the few survivors of Castle Cousland massacre. He hesitated for a moment, looking at his lady for confirmation, and once the Chancellor nodded, he left the room, closing the door behind him soundlessly.

Viola motioned Anora to sit in one of the lush chairs she kept in her study, and after a moment of hesitation, Anora moved towards it and sat down, arranging her skirts around her.

“I want to know what Alistair meant with not abandoning his wife,” Anora commanded, against all hope daring to think that maybe Alistair was just the foolish man she thought him to be, when she saw him for the very first time, and when he spoke, he was just trying to confuse her.

Cailan wouldn’t abandon her, would he?

Viola’s silence had been answer enough, even before the woman took a deep breath. “I’m uncertain whether I should have been the one to speak of this,” she started, her words quiet and careful, as she rose from her chair, “but when we returned to Ostagar during the Blight, there had been… letters, that implied some of Cailan’s intentions.”

Anora felt as if a stone rested in her stomach; the sinking feeling of dread overcoming her for a moment. “What letters?” she choked out, not completely trusting her voice. Thank the Maker she was already sitting down - she didn’t think would be able to stand on her own.

Viola rose from her place, moving towards one of the paintings on the wall; a painting of Highever scenery, if Anora wasn’t mistaken. She took it off the wall, revealing a small door in wall, with a small metal chest in the small alcove behind it. She didn’t see what Viola did with it, but with a quiet click the chest opened, and Viola took a small package of letters out of it.

“Alistair insisted that we get all the letters from the correspondence we found only a small part of, and keep it secret. Only recently did my contacts get the last letters, and I was asked to keep them locked away.”

“Why?”

Viola looked at the letters in her hands, and then at Anora. “He didn’t want you to find out about them, because he thought they would only hurt you.”

She held them to her. “But obviously, Alistair felt you need to read them, for he asked me to give them to you, should you ask for an explanation of something he might have told you.”

She left the Queen in her study, only quickly asking the servants to bring the Queen some refreshments before she left.

Anora held one of the letters in her trembling hand. There was a small number written on it, marking its order in the whole of the letters as the first received. She opened it, letting her eyes rest on the words written in elegant script she recognized as the one of Empress Celene.

_To his Majesty, King Cailan of Ferelden:_

_My Warden-Commander assures me that we face a Blight. This thing threatens us both, and we must work together to fight it, lest it devour all…_

Anora kept on reading, not quite understanding why the Chancellor gave her official correspondence between her first husband and Orlesian Empress. Both monarchs kept on corresponding, but slowly, the official tone started to tip to more familiar territory.

And then came letter written in script she recognized as Eamon’s.

_Your Majesty,_

_My men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun._

_Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, not to join the Grey Wardens on the Field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death--and it pains me even to think of it--would plunge Ferelden into chaos._

_And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed._

_Please, nephew, consider my words, and Andraste's grace be with you._

For a moment, she felt as if a horse kicked her in the ribs; all air escaping her lungs. She remembered how angry the Arl looked the moment Viola announced the joint rule of her and Alistair, before his face resumed the neutral look so many nobles used to wear as a mask.

There had been some more letters between Cailan and Celene, organizing Celene’s visit to Ferelden.

The very last letter stabbed the knife of hurt even deeper into Anora’s heart, the familiarity and the finality of it all bringing tears into her eyes, blurring her vision.

_Cailan,_

_The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course? The darkspawn have odd timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden._

Anora didn’t really know how long she stared at the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She only knew that at some point of time Viola returned in a flash of red and gold, gently took the letters from her numb fingers. She had only a vague notion of being carried through the palace corridors, and then they were in the royal chambers, somebody was getting her out of her clothes and laying her on the bed.

There had been voices - did she heard a woman and a man speaking? - but then Anora closed her eyes and fell into the welcome darkness of sleep.

**-o.O.o-**

“Thank the Maker you arrived.”

“Right on time, eh?”

“Absolutely.”

Alistair and Viola were standing in the antechamber of the royal quarters; Viola quickly bringing Alistair up to speed to the happenings of the last few days. Lots of paperwork. Merchants being nasty bastards who were trying to sell her overpriced cloth for her wedding dress. Several drafts for treaties with other countries drafted. Anora demanding to know what the hell her husband meant when he mentioned ‘abandoning his wife’. The letters having exactly the effect they both were worried about.

“You should stay with her.”

“Riiight, I’m about the last person on the whole Thedas she wants to see, and I should stay with her.”

“Alistair.”

“Alright, alright - but if you have to call in a Landsmeet, because Ferelden once again lacks a King, I’m so not going to feel sorry for you when you have to explain to all those banns that their King was murdered on your watch. Just so you know.”

That actually earned him a very loud eyeroll (before he met Viola, Alistair would have never thought that eyerolls could actually be heard). “Duly noted. Now get back. Send a word, if you need anything.”

Alistair just nodded, watching Viola leave the room, before he went back to the bedchamber. He had a long day (more like long two weeks), but somehow he didn’t think it would be proper to go to sleep to the bed Anora was already sleeping in, and leaving her to wake alone in the morning would probably help nothing as well.

Sighing, he sent a quick prayer to the Maker for whoever had the foresight to equip the bedrooms with such comfortable chairs.


	3. Hope

 

_ “Hope is the thing with feathers _

_ That perches in the soul _

_ And sings the tune without the words _

_ And never stops at all.”  _

\- Emily Dickinson

-o.O.o-

Usually, Anora woke up gradually and in a matter of few minutes, she was fully capable of functioning. This time, however, she was waking in a sluggish jumps, her head feeling as if someone filled it to the brim with cotton, her eyes gritty and nose stuffed.

She hated waking up after she was crying, for usually, she would be waking alone, supposed to single-handedly gather the pieces of her heart and glue them together in order to live again.

This time, however, she woke up to the sound of someone’s quiet snores. Searching for the source of the noise, she found her husband, Alistair, sitting in one of the plush chairs, leaning back as he slept, arms crossed on his chest.

He looked so unkingly at that moment that Anora couldn’t help but snort a laugh at the sight.

Of course, the sound woke Alistair up - the man instantly fully alert and ready to pounce at any threats; courtesy of living on the road for over a year, with Darkspawn and bandits all over Ferelden, keeping him and the rest of their group on their toes even when they were exhausted half to death most of that time.

“You’re awake,” he said, and before, Anora would snipe at him that his talent at stating the obvious is rather remarkable - probably the most remarkable of his features. But that statement was underlined with a mix of wariness (no doubt because he was expecting the snipe, and was preparing to deflect it with a joking remark) and it made her heart twist in her chest.

When had she became so spiteful that someone so lively was constantly on his toes around her?

“So I am,” she said instead, not missing the surprised way he blinked at her when the expected snipe didn’t come. “And I believe we should talk.”

Half-expecting him to wince the way Cailan would when she said those words, she was surprised to find Alistair nodding. “That we should. I suppose you have…” Here he grimaced, just like she came to expect Alistair to do, “questions.”

Before she could stop herself, question that had been bothering her ever since Viola proposed their union, bubbled up. “Is there anything between you and Viola?” She blurted, blood rushing to her face as Alistair gaped at her.

“‘Between me and Viola’? Like,” he actually reddened here, “some kind of illicit and secret affair between the last two Grey Wardens, alone in their quest to save the world, finding solace in each other’s arms?”

Now that Alistair said it like that, Anora had to confess it  _ did _ sound a bit ridiculously overdramatic, but not something that couldn’t happen.

He sighed. 

“I understand where you are coming from, but it was never like that for me and Viola. Yes, we became close, very close at that, but the closeness is more like between siblings, than between a man and a woman. You’ve met Couslands before - they are so touchy-feely with nearly everyone.” He actually chuckled. “Not to mention that a certain Bann with a reputation of a forever bachelor would probably skin me alive, if I ever tried to do anything.”

“Oh,” Anora said eloquently. That was true - how often did Eleanor patted her hand? Or all those times when Bryce would throw his arm around Maric’s or Cailan’s shoulders, when they were talking in private, or at least as privately as a King could talk with his noble friends? Or Fergus, almost constantly doing the same to his friends?

“Yes,  _ ‘oh’ _ ,” Alistair mimicked, his tone light, not exactly as mocking as she expected him to sound. “Maker, I know why you would think what you did,” he grimaced, the smile sliding away from his face. “Viola told me about the court gossip, and how my brother dear would hit even on her, until he was firmly told that in no way would a Cousland woman be a home-wrecker. Well,” he paused, “ _ that _ and how her brother actually punched him, when he refused to take that as an answer.”

Almost against her will, Anora giggled at the image her mind summoned. Cousland siblings were well-known for their protectiveness. Fergus Cousland protecting his sister was an old news, and also one of the reasons why she was still unmarried, when the Blight began.

Young nobles simply lacked the courage to court the young woman, when they were under the heavy gaze of her older brother, opting instead for someone more easily accessible.

“But I’ll have you know,” Alistair continued, “that even if it may not look like it, I really am _ not _ Cailan.”

The silence between them grew heavy again; Anora sitting on her bed, with Alistair leaning forward in his seat, gazing at each other.

“I know,” she said at last.

But Alistair was not done - the long months of frustrations, the humiliation of constantly being compared to a ghost, finally bubbled over. “I don’t think you do; not really.”

He rose to his feet, pacing in the room. “I’m fully aware that I do not have all the knowledge a Prince, and then a King is supposed to have. You and a more than just a handful of nobles made that abundantly clear.  _ Everyone and their mother _ made it abundantly clear, only Viola, Fergus and Teagan being the exception of the rule that says ‘let’s underestimate Alistair, he’s so very stupid’.” 

He stopped to look at Anora, who sat on the bed, quiet with surprise. “Did you know that Viola was the first person to accept me as I am? The silly jokes, clumsiness, inexperience in just being - all of that and then some?”

There was nothing Anora could say to counter that. She knew that every word he spoke was true. Haven’t she thrown it into his face often enough that he will never be like Cailan, will never be as much at easy among the nobility as his brother had been?

Alistair stared at her for a some time, breathing heavily after his outburst; she looked to the ground, the shame colouring her usually pale cheeks.

“I’m not Cailan,” Alistair repeated after that uncomfortable silence. “I’ll never as much cordial with the nobles as he used to be, I’ll never be the son who wants to be like his father. But,” his voice lowered, stressing what he wanted to say, “but I’ll never be the man who plots to abandon his wife, who will go behind her back, only to make her into target for pity and mockery with his inability to keep his pants on when close to the first attractive woman nearby.”

“I know,” Anora said, and for now, it had been enough. This time, she meant it, and this time, she was finally starting to see this side of her husband - the hard set of his jaw, the determined look in his eyes, the way he proudly announced with his whole posture he will not be cowed into submission.

Maric once stood similarly, she remembered faintly from what her father once told her. But his stance had been given to him during a rebellion, where the majority of Ferelden quickly flocked under his banner, and together they fought against the occupation.

Alistair started with nothing and noone by his side but a single woman and single mabari by his side, rising through the treachery towards saving the world, becoming a King with as much as his fighting arm and as with his wit. First, it had been the woman, Viola Cousland, who pushed them forward in their battle against everyone and everything - now, it had been Viola supporting him when it should be her, Anora, to do that.

She looked up from the spot she watched on the floor, and met his eyes, reading the understanding in his gaze. Things were not well between them, not yet, but they could work it out.

And they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - finally an epilogue, which hopefully won't take me another year-and-half to finish xD
> 
> Also, I take story commissions - you can read more about it [here](http://neferit.deviantart.com/journal/Commission-Info-493055364).


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